


Getting the Boot

by Wolfscub



Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston Fandom
Genre: D/s, Erotica, F/M, Sex, Southern Accent, Threat of Spanking, Twang, boot fetish, boot licking, dominant Tom, shoe fetish, smutty smut smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-15 05:21:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4594362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfscub/pseuds/Wolfscub
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is all about the boots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Getting the Boot

**Author's Note:**

> This is for my dearest angreav, and she knows why! ;)
> 
> NSFW! Mature audiences, only!
> 
> It all comes from [this](http://sherekahnsgirl.tumblr.com/post/126705625080/cheers-mrhiddleston-x-is-it-wrong-for-me-to) comment I made 
> 
> I never realized I had a real boot fetish until I saw him wearing these!! UNF!! I hope I've done it justice.
> 
> Dom!Tom, D/s, threat of spanking, Boot fetish, Shoe fetish, Boot licking, Southern Accent, Sex, Erotica, Smutty Smut Smut, Twang
> 
> The pic is my own edit, from this [source](http://startfilm.ru/images/base/images/big_50384_i-saw-the-light-1.jpg)

[](http://s1008.photobucket.com/user/phillyloo/media/GettingtheBoot_zpscu6oxo2n.jpg.html)

 

There was a loud knock at the door of my hotel room. I had been lazing around in it since he left, had just gotten out of the shower and was in the act of dressing when I heard it, pulling my panties up and reaching for the first thing that would make me at least somewhat decent, which happened to be a white dress shirt that was on the floor next to me - where he'd dropped it carelessly last night while in pursuit of something of great interest to him.

Me.

I tugged it on and began to button it, dismayed at how tight it was, and the fact that I literally _couldn't_ button it over my breasts at all.

But there was that insistent knock again, and I knew it would have to do.

And then I heard it.

"Are you there, sugar?"

I stopped in the act of walking to the door, headed for the peep hole, but at the sound of that voice - although the accent wasn't one I _quite_ recognized, I knew who owned it beyond a shadow of a doubt - I knew I didn't need to be so cautious.

And I knew somehow, without looking, what he was wearing for me.

I opened the door just enough to unlock it, no more and stood back, expecting him to push his way in, but he was such a pain in the ass he didn't open it immediately.

"Have you been a good girl?" he drawled teasingly from behind the door, and I felt my fresh panties becoming much less so instantaneously.

"Jesus Christ, Tom, YESSSSSS!" I was practically jumping up and down with excitement.

He gave a chuckle that wasn't really his usual - it was more fully formed and a bit deeper - and it settled right where I knew he wanted it to on me, although that part of me was already throbbing in anticipation.

Finally, after a few more seconds of torturous delay, he pushed his way slowly in, letting the door close automatically behind him as he stood there not two feet in front of me, looking down at me, a smile a shade or two less than shit eating on his face as he watched me react to the devastating picture he presented.

I have to confess that I have a thing for guys in cowboy boots, and he was certainly aware of that predilection, and I was aware that he was probably wearing them while portraying - or channeling, as I had more aptly described it to him - Hank Williams. I had been bugging him about wanting to see him dressed as Hank since I'd gotten there, but so far he had demurred, saying only that he'd _try_ to get me a glimpse of him in costume but that he wasn't going to make any promises - because he really wasn't supposed to wear his costume off set, of course.

Today was my last day here - I should have suspected that he was going to do something like this. He _loved_ to surprise me when he could.

I couldn't help myself. I squeed, long and loud and hard, clapping my hands and grinning like an idiot, with my hand over my mouth and my eyes eating up the heart-stopping sight of him, from his cowboy-hatted head all the way down to . . . 

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

Those boots!!!

They were almost as unbelievably gorgeous as he was!! And they were at least as powerful a draw to me.

Without a conscious thought in my head except that I wanted to get closer to them - and thus him _in_ them - I dropped to my knees in front of him, bending over to take a deep whiff of that earthy scent, then rub my cheek against that pristine, surprisingly soft leather.

I could hear Tom chuckling softly above me. "I can see I'm going to need to find a way to procure these from wardrobe once we've wrapped, since I rather love you in this position."

I shot up, one of my hands left still eagerly groping the boots, and thus his feet in them. "Do you really think you could?" I whispered reverently.

Tom took a step towards me, towering over me even more than he usually did, tipping my head back with a finger beneath my chin. "Oh, I think it might be arranged - if you behave yourself." His fingers moved to cup my cheek gently as he stared down at me. 

I couldn't help it. I shivered. "Tom, you have _got_ to fuck me while you're wearing these. Please, please, _please_!!!"

His brows drew together disapprovingly at my demand, and I felt that familiar tingle of fear zip down my spine to settle in the already drenched area between my legs.

"I don't believe I _have_ to do anything of the sort, darlin'." I watched his eyes settle on the way my breasts were presented as they practically burst forth from behind the material of his shirt, seeing that bulge behind his suit pants growing larger by the second. "In fact, I have another purpose for them entirely."

He touched the front of my shoulder, not pushing or pressing in the least, but I was already quite well trained and knew that that was the signal for me to lie on my back. Tom didn't generally go for overt displays of dominance, much preferring more subtle signals that were entirely between us.

I did as I knew I should - for once - eager to make him pleased with me and more likely to do what I wanted him to, I reasoned as my shoulder blades met the thick pile carpet, using my hands to pull my long hair from where it was trapped beneath my head and shoulders and the top of my back so that it fanned out around my head in waves, like a halo, then placing my hands at my sides, where I was expected to keep them.

Although I should have known better than to assume with him, and as an afterthought, my hands went immediately to the shirt buttons. I so wanted him to see my breasts, to display them to him. But he reached down and put one hand gently over mine, stilling them, and saying quietly, "No. My shirt frames your breasts quite prettily." My hands fell to my sides.

Tom moved to hover one of those booted feet over my knees and raised an expressive, expectant eyebrow at me.

Suddenly shy, I sought his eyes but found their expression resolute, and after wiggling my knees a bit up and down, fidgeting in silent protest, I submitted and began to separate them, just as he was beginning to try to wedge his foot between them without my cooperation.

"Knees up, doll. And did I say you could stop spreading them?"

How did he make my stomach flip-flop so violently when he hadn't raised his voice one decibel?

I moved them until they were completely splayed, as if I was a butterfly with my wings pinned back.

"Good girl. Keep them just like that, no matter what I do," he ordered, shrugging quickly out of his jacket and tossing the hat onto the bed next to them, then rolling his shirt sleeves neatly up his forearms, all without ever once taking those intent eyes off of mine.

He came to stand at my head, placing a booted foot on either side of it, surrounding me with that which I coveted the most - besides him - and trapping me, since those big booted feet of his were literally standing on my hair.

Then he squatted down, over my face, careful not to smother me. I was overwhelmed by the intoxicating scents of leather and his sensual cologne mixed with the blatant aroma of aroused male.

 _Very_ aroused male.

"Damn, woman, I can see - and smell - how wet you are from here!" he breathed.

My legs spasmed automatically at his embarrassing comment, as if I would directly disobey him, knowing that he was aware of how much I desperately wanted to close them, to protect those delicate bits from his prying eyes, but I wasn't allowed to and I somehow managed to resist the urge.

Barely.

Why I should feel that way - as if I had to protect myself from him - after all of the time we'd spent together, I'll never know. 

Those enormous hands of his came down to cup my breasts over the shirt, massaging them roughly, just the way he knew I liked, until I began moaning and my nipples threatened to cut their way through the material.

Then he rose and walked slowly around me, as if he was inspecting me, running the tips and sides of his beautiful footwear along my arms and nudging them away from my body.

"Arms above your head, swee' pea, and keep them there."

When I had complied, he moved a bit closer, raising his leg occasionally to touch me with the toe here or there, pressing them against my nipples and running them along my sides. Then he stepped over me, straddling me and squatting down again, leaning over for a passionate kiss that left me trembling with longing, wanting so much more from him than he was giving me.

He eventually rose and turned to stand between my legs and tuck the tips of his boots so far beneath my bottom that he actually angled it up a bit, exposing me that much further to his greedy gaze.

His tongue flicked out over his lips as it often did - a habit that revealed that he was concentrating hard on something, which at this moment happened to be me.

Our eyes collided and he held me there, mesmerized by that tongue, and that was when I felt him move his right boot until it hovered over the tenderest parts of me that were laid bare to him, literally at his feet.

He was standing on one leg, the front of that boot hovering, at first, over my pussy, but I had no concerns at all that he might accidentally step on me - the man had an almost freakish ability to control his body. He could have stood there with one leg up for the rest of the day, like some sort of Adonis flamingo.

But he began to bring it down quite deliberately, until the sole of the boot came in contact with my gushing, exposed slit, which he then began to rub, moving upwards a bit, to make sure he caught my clit with every stroke.

I couldn’t believe what he was doing - my mind completely imploded, and I was humiliatingly close to cumming just from the idea, much less the reality of what he was doing to me! All I could do was let the waves of pleasure wash over me uncontrollably from that point on.

"Does that feel good, angel?" he drawled slowly, eyes heavy slits. I could see that he wasn't unmoved by what I was feeling, by how my hips were rising to meet his ornately clad foot, moaning loudly, my body undulating, breasts heaving within the tight confines of his shirt, threatening - as he often did when he was wearing it - to make those tiny buttons burst right off it.

But they didn't.

"Yes, Sir - Tom . . . " I gave him a hesitant look, murmuring tentatively, " _Hank_."

I was rewarded for my bold improvisation by a broad, sly grin, my eyes widening as I felt him move that boot down my cleft, pressing it hard against me until the blunt, square toe lay in wait at the entrance to my body.

And without pausing, he lifted his chin and, staring down at me, I felt him violate the sanctity of my body with the hard, wide toe of his booted foot.

Again, I nearly came right then and there, but I knew I couldn’t. He liked challenging me, teasing me, trying to make me forget that I needed his permission to experience the ultimate culmination of all of his considerable expertise in arousing me, and it was much too soon for me to expect he would grant me that, so I didn't even bother to ask.

It was too big - as other parts of him were very nearly too big - to get too far inside me, but that didn't matter to me, especially when he began to rock it back and forth - in and out - of me. 

"Oh, God - I - unnnnhhhhh . . . "

I wanted to raise my arms to him in supplication, wanted to touch him any way I could, but my hands remained where he had told me to put them.

My breaking point was met embarrassingly quickly. I wanted more, and I couldn't keep myself from begging for it. "Fuck me - please, Hank, please!" I panted.

But he just gave me that evil smile of his that was definitely more Tom than Hank. "Why darlin', I thought that that was just what I was doing. You certainly are creaming all over my boot like I'm fucking you." He removed one boot and substituted the other instead, doing exactly the same thing until I knew I was going to go out of my mind with it. 

And he came to stand by my head and hold one of them up to my mouth. "Lick it, honey. Lick yourself off my boot. If you do a good enough job, maybe I _will_ fuck you."

I did just that without a second's hesitation, taking my time, being outrageously overt about it - mouth open, tongue out as far as it would go, as if I was giving it a blow job, tasting a heady combination of expensive leather and my own undeniable musk.

I could see him watching me, his jaw hard, lips a tight line, and I knew I was soon going to get what I wanted.

Seconds later, the boot was snatched from my mouth, and he grabbed me up none too gently by the hair to lift me up and deposit me on all four with my head practically under the nearby coffee table.

"Put your hands on the edge of it and don't you _dare_ let go," he growled.

Definitely Tom. A good ole' Southern boy tinged Tom, but Tom nonetheless.

It wasn't easy, but I did as he bid, feeling a sense of satisfaction as I could hear that he was breathing at least as heavily as I was while he only did what was absolutely necessary to loose himself, the telltale clinking of his belt buckle announcing his intentions. Then he contorted himself some impossible way behind me, in some kind of half squat and suddenly, in a split second that made the breath catch hard in my throat from the sheer mental and physical force of it, I was no longer alone in my own body.

Instead I was filled with him - top to bottom - and it always surprised me just how completely he managed to do that. There was no room left at all - he occupied every bit of me. If he hardened or thickened any further I thought I might explode.

His presence within me magnified the ache that had begun when I'd heard his voice from behind the door, and added its own level of anguished pleasure that had me writhing beneath him, not really knowing if I was trying to ease the ache or get away from the intense pressure and bliss he was creating within me at the same time - probably a lot of both.

But I knew there would be no escape from it - from him.

As if to prove my own point, he reached beneath me to grasp my breasts, fondling them possessively as he withdrew, causing a sense of longing as well as relief, at least until a second later, when he snapped his hips violently forward and I was again occupied by him - mind, soul, and very definitely, very demonstrably body.

The shirt was preventing him from really getting at my breasts but he didn't simply undo it. Instead, he reached into it and brought both of them out through that relatively small opening, a move which both revealed them to his avid hands and fingers but also kept them bound together, barely able to move even with the heaviest of his trusts, trapping them there, where he could molest them at will.

And he did, slapping them each hard, aiming for my nipples, making me cry out from his efforts at both ends of my body, then squeezing and pulling on them, from the base all the way down to my nipples, pulling rhythmically, as if he was milking me.

I both hated and loved it when he did that - I'd even asked him not to do it because I was so conflicted about how I felt about it when he did that - but that was all I could do - ask, knowing I was his to do with as he pleased. 

And this was what he was pleased to do to me.

When his hands weren't doing obscene things to my breasts, they were at my hips, forcing me to open for him and accept his cock within me, occasionally reaching around to sharply pat the very tip of a clit that was more than well moistened and full erect, eager for even that kind of raw more painful than pleasurable attention, flicking it, and pinching it rudely, laughing when I tried to object as best I could and simply doing it again - and again - and again, because he could.

And, suddenly, I was there.

 _Right there_ , right on the brink.

"H - Hank - T - Tom - whoever - please may I come?"

No immediate answer but him continuing to plunge insistently into me, his breath panting down onto my nape, so I began to try to back myself off, away from the edge, but it was like trying to stop a freight train.

Then he moved. I don't know how he was managing to contort himself as he did, but he leaned forward, which drove him further into me, and very deliberately placed the booted foot that was still covered in my essence - the one he hadn't presented for me to lick clean - onto the edge of the coffee table - right by my head - for leverage.

And for effect.

I could still see the glistening wet spot on the blunt tip of that boot, could still smell my essence radiating from it.

And he was still jackhammering himself into me as he reached around my hip to place the fingers of one hand over that eager little bean and began to rub insistently while his strong right hand wrapped itself around my throat and began to squeeze threateningly.

"Cum for me, darlin'. Cum hard for Hank." A few seconds later, he snarled, "Be a good girl and cum for me or I'll whup your ass until you do."

It was the twang that got me.

Or was it the threat I knew he wouldn't hesitate to carry out if I didn't obey him?

Regardless, it couldn't have been more than two or three seconds later when I lost complete control of myself and began to scream in the midst of the depths of my bliss, until I felt his hand clamp over my mouth and I was forced to ride out - to be ridden through - another four climaxes he drove me to silently, yelling constantly behind that big hand of his as I felt myself being swept along in a tidal wave of sensation, until he stabbed himself into me for the last time, barely able to contain his own groans of completion that leaked out from behind his own clenched teeth before he collapsed over me, panting, gulping air as I was, the both of us utterly spent.

He rose first - he had to, or I wasn't going anywhere, not that he let me get far anyway. He collapsed onto the floor in a beautiful heap, sitting up sort of, but still managed to somehow retain enough of himself to pull me onto his lap, enfolding me into his arms and surrounding me with the pure comfort of his presence.

"One day you are going to kill me, you know that?" He didn't sound very concerned.

"Then we'll go together. Can you just see the headlines?"

He snorted and kissed the top of my head. "I'm sorry to, uh, fuck and run, but I've gotta get back, baby."

Tom stood with obvious reluctance to leave me, which warmed my heart, as well as other places.

But when I saw the toes of his boots I blushed at my own behavior, and I haven't blushed in years!

I reached for a tissue from the box on the coffee table, intending to remove the remaining traces of myself from those exquisite boots before he left, but his firm hand on my arm stopped me.

He crouched down in front of me, his eyes capturing mine before he spoke, and although the words were delivered in a spot on, if unfamiliar soft Southern drawl, they were all Tom. 

"No, don't do that. I want to be able to look down during the day and remember the sight of you writhing and moaning on the tips of my boots. It'll keep me hard and ready for you until I get back to you again, which can't be soon enough for me."

Then he gave me a rough kiss that lasted but an instant, shrugged into his coat and planted that big hat firmly on the top of his head before he turned to me as he opened the door, giving me a slow, lascivious wink before walking on out of it.


End file.
